Leo's throat moved. Corey had unfolded his arms. Bobby's phone buzzed again. He read the screen.
"Sully's going to make the call to Velasquez directly," he said. "He'll use the yard number." "He knows how Toad operates. He'll reach him at the office line." He looked at Leo. "What's your name?
Your real name? Full name?" "Leonardo Danton, Leo." "And yours?" to Corey. "Corey Baxter." Bobby typed it in. "Sully's going to tell Velasquez that the Danton debt is settled.
6,000 wiped. No further contact. No further enforcement." He paused. "He's going to need something from Velasquez in return." "What kind of something?" Corey said.
"The kind of something that Velasquez will not enjoy providing, but will provide anyway." Bobby said, "Because the alternative will be explained to him clearly, and he will understand it." Corey looked at Leo. Leo looked at Corey. Neither of them had language for what was happening, which was perhaps the first honest thing about the night. The diner door, the frame of it now missing its glass, let in a thread of desert air that moved through the room and lifted a paper menu from the counter and set it back down.
Outside on the highway, nothing moved. The Mojave was doing what the Mojave does at 2:00 in the morning, existing at a frequency slightly outside the range of comfort, indifferent to everything human happening at its edge. Garrett's phone buzzed. He looked at it, and something in his face went briefly warm.
He turned it slightly so Mike could see without saying a word. A text from his wife, a photo of their daughter asleep in her bed. The caption, "She wanted to wait up for Daddy. Almost made it." Mike looked at it.
The corner of his mouth moved. He looked at Leo. "You have a daughter," he said, not a question. Leo's throat closed.